


Ghost Stories

by Vyranai



Series: The Rapture [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood Mage Hawke, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fenris has magic, Glorious smut, Ice mage Fenris, Post-Trespasser, Purple Hawke, Romance, Smut, The Veil is no more, fenhawke - Freeform, now with
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:51:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9797219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyranai/pseuds/Vyranai
Summary: When the Veil falls and Fenris finds himself gifted  - or cursed? - with the power of magic, he and Hawke set out on a mission to take down a rebel God and remove the magic from his veins. Or die trying.





	1. Frozen

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle up folks, it's going to be a very bumpy ride with mage Fenris and Hawke.

 

Hawke had heard Fenris scream before, but never in such a tortured, anguished way. She snatched up the dagger beneath her pillow and threw the covers off, almost falling over in her haste to reach him before the trespassers harmed him further. _If they have harmed one hair on his head, I will cut off their fingers and feed the digits to them, one at a time until they choke._ She crushed down the terrible fear that she might be too late.

 _What did you do, Hawke?_ the Nightmare whispered nastily into her ear even now. _Who did you save? No one. They are all dead. Because of you. And Fenris will follow them all._

Not Fenris too. _Not_ Fenris.

The hall was ablaze with light, but not from the candles or chandelier; they had long since been extinguished. A pulsing, throbbing glow lit the walls sapphire. Hawke snarled and threw herself down the stairs, forcing the flames to wrap around the blade of her enchanted knife. “Fenris!” she bellowed, a war cry.

Only there was no one there other than the elf himself. Fenris' lyrium tattoos were the source of the bright light, flashing like lightning was contained within them. He wasn't screaming now, but the way he knelt on the flagstones with his forehead pressed against them, hands claws before him... it terrified her.

“Where are they?!”Hawke demanded, at his side in an instant, standing over him with a fierce glint to her eye. “Fenris, _where are they?_ ” When he didn't answer, she tore into the entrance and snarled, flames springing to her other hand. The front door was locked tightly, key still in the exact same position that she had left it before they had retired to bed.

 

Hawke searched the estate as fast as she could, heart hammering in her chest, but found no evidence of any intruder at all. Not a window was unlocked, keys still in each one. The cellar hatch was still an inch deep in undisturbed dust. 

Maker, it was cold. Hawke's breath condensed as she hurried back through the kitchen, towards the front of the estate. Now that she was sure that no one would pounce upon her as she assisted her lover, she allowed herself to turn her attention to him.

The door leading from the kitchen and into the hall refused to open when she placed her hand upon it. With a frown she tried the handle; Hawke cried out as it burned her hand. Not from heat, but from intense cold. Red welts were already beginning to form upon her palms.

How had she missed them? How had she missed this intruder if he was a mage?

Hawke unleashed murderous fury in a floral nightgown upon the kitchen door, kicking it repeatedly until the ice encasing it fractured and gave way in a shower of glittering crystals. “Fenris! Where are y-”

He was still exactly where she had left him, but now he lay prostrate upon his back, hands almost tearing at his hair; the tattoos still shone a brilliant and blinding blue, brighter than she had ever seen them. Surrounding him-

Hawke stopped dead, feet almost freezing to the sheen of ice underfoot; she swore and jumped back into the kitchen before the skin left the soles of her feet. But the ice wasn't surrounding him, but emanating from him instead. Like he was a...

Like he was a mage.

She'd always hated the flagstones anyway Hawke figured as she called on the flames once more, melting a path towards Fenris. The closer she got, the more the cold seemed to steal the very heart and soul out of her. It was jarring to be so very cold. She had never felt anything like it. Fenris was almost like a block of ice when her fingers brushed his bare shoulder. “Fenris?” Hawke breathed, equally part terrified and amazed. “Fenris, what happened?-”

He reacted to her touch like the bomb that had destroyed the Chantry. Hawke cried out as the veritable wave of power slammed into her chest, throwing her hard against the stairs. Lights danced before her eyes as she managed to roll down the steps, a sharp pain in her chest; a rib or two was broken. She recognized the burn from that time she had missed her footing on the Wounded Coast and gone tumbling down the rock face. Fenris had saved her then, haring down after her incompetent ass. And just like he had rescued her then, she intended on saving him now.

Fenris didn't explode again when Hawke's fingers grasped him by the shoulders, then his face, forcing wide and terrified eyes to meet her own. The dagger tumbled onto the ice with a tinkle. “Get a hold of yourself!” she shouted, holding him firm. Fenris appeared to be able to see, but he was looking _through_ her, gaze glassy and so terribly lost. “Fen... I'm here.”

A howling noise, almost like a dog trapped in a burning building tore from him. It chilled Hawke more than any ice ever could. When she pulled him into her arms, whether he was willing or not for her to touch him, he was shaking, trembling so violently that Hawke couldn't be sure if it was from fear, shock or cold. Or maybe it was a mixture of the three.

“Calm down,” she soothed him, voice shaking just as badly. Hawke laced her fingers into his snowy hair; it was something she did when the pair were alone. He liked it, Fenris had admitted to her in a whisper one night. It was a very private confession and Hawke treasured each and every little new piece of information that he allowed her to have.

 

Very slowly, the chill lessened and Hawke found that she could feel her toes again. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, coughing as she fought to keep breathing in a room still so cold. “Right, now; you are going to get up. You _will_ get up, and you will come back to bed where it is warm. You will sleep and you will deal with this tomorrow, not now. Fenris, _stand up._ ”

Through the din that was his head, he heard her plea. Hawke took Fenris under one arm while the other was dedicated to blazing a path through the now thick ice. They moved slow, sluggish, but at least he was walking. Hawke didn't think that she'd be able to hoist him over her shoulder with her damaged ribs. And there was a very good chance he'd lash out without meaning. Adding to his stress was the utmost last thing she desired. It was a sin to cause this man more pain. After all, she had caused so much recently.

Once again, as it had been all day, the argument from the previous week rang loud and clear as Hawke hauled Fenris across the landing: “ _You left me, Hawke! You swore, you promised on everything that you held dear that you would not deceive me, and you left! You hared off to that wretched Inquisition, leaving me only a letter and your feeble apologies! I had to find out from the_ abomination _of_ all _people that you had gone into the Fade! Into the void itself! And I was a world away from you and helpless!”_

“ _I didn't tell you because I wanted you to be safe, Fenris! You were not there when we unleashed that... that_ thing _upon Thedas. Thank the Maker for small mercies. It was not your fight and I could not drag you into it! If something happened to you...”_

“ _To me? Woman, did you even consider how I would feel when you left?”_

“ _Did you even consider how_ I _felt when you left_ me! _You... you lay with me and then made me feel worthless. It felt like you were making excuses when you ran away. Oh wait, you were!”_

“ _Hawke... don't tread there, I'm warning you.”_

“ _Or what? We both know that you still have difficulty separating the mask: The Champion of Kirkwall and a feared blood mage, from who I really am: Eryna Hawke. You claim to care for me, but still hesitate at times when you go to kiss me – oh yes, I noticed that. I love you, but do you love me?”_

“ _Go to bed, fool woman. And don't wait up – I won't be joining you.”_

And so that led to Fenris taking up the couch sat in her mother's old bedroom, curled up like a cat upon it with no blanket. Never on the bed, thankfully; Hawke still hadn't come to terms with the reason why there was so much dust gathering in there, dresses still hung in the wardrobe. The couch in there was Fenris' go-to place when he wanted to be alone now. At least it was a place in the estate, not the ruins of his old Master's building. That place was beyond saving now, skeletons littering the floors still. Local nobles swore that the place was haunted.

 

Hawke didn't take Fenris to his little den, but to her wide and sprawling bed instead. He didn't complain when she essentially tossed him into the mattress because he wouldn't get in himself. Actually, Hawke wasn't sure if he even knew where he _was_ right now. Maker... if he had magic, then that meant the Veil was gone. There was no curtain shielding their world from the other that lay within reach now. “ _Be ready,”_ the Inquisitor had whispered to her when they had crossed by sheer chance on the road towards the sea, eyes so terribly sad and anguished. _“When Fen'Harel brings that down... people will need you. You and Fenris.”_ If Hawke thought that she had a frustrating boyfriend, Aevella Lavellan had her beat without even lifting a finger. Or ex-boyfriend now, seeing as the Wolf had fled many years ago now. Elven men, Hawke figured, were flighty and cautious by nature. But Fenris wasn't a _God..._

Careful not to disturb him too much, Hawke pulled the covers over his trembling form to warm him up, rubbing his body very gently to generate heat; the tattoos had stopped blazing, but they still weren't quiet, a soft cornflower shade now. The color was very beautiful, reminding Hawke of the ice he had accidentally summoned in the hall downstairs. Once there was enough covers on him, Hawke stepped back and stared at the blank wall opposite rather than at him, knowing that if she caved, she'd never look away. She'd slip into the space next to Fenris and make him even more furious at her tomorrow morning.

Very reluctantly, chest aching for a number of reasons, Hawke turned away.

 

 


	2. Newborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The alienage burns and it's Hawke to the rescue. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments/kudos on chapter one! I hope you enjoy chapter two. Things are... heating up.
> 
> Want to prompt me or just scream about Dragon Age? I've got you! My Tumblr is: thelastmorozova.tumblr.com/

The bed and its tangled sheets were empty the next morning when Hawke tentatively poked her head around the frame. Her heart sunk; had he fled? _He just needs some time to think,_ she told herself firmly, refusing to read too much into it in fear of losing her mind to worry. _He will be back, Hawke. He stayed in Kirkwall to protect it when you hauled ass to the Inquisition._ She didn't think that she'd ever stop feeling so guilty over that. He was a fighter, like she was. But the thought of losing him to one of her own mistakes...

In any case, Hawke didn't have time to worry as the bell rang, echoing through the estate with resounding clangs. A second later, fists were hammering against the door, demanding and urgent. She'd never known anyone to knock in a polite way. She was their woman when something 'urgent' came up.

Ice still encased the entire entrance hall. Just making her way towards the door required some strategic hopping and jumping. _Later. Maybe I'll come home after this shitstorm and find that I now have an indoor pool._ She'd always wanted an indoor pool. And Hawke would have had one, had the fucking Chantry not been blown up by one that would use it.

_Thank you, Anders, for denying me my much deserved pool of relaxation._

"Hawke! Maker help me I will kick down this door if you don't answer within the next five seconds!"Aveline's disgruntled shout sounded from behind the wood. "Where are you?!"

At least Fenris' ice hadn't spread to the front door. When Hawke turned the key and wrenched the door inwards, it swung with ease even though the hinges needed a tune up from the death squeal. Aveline's face was ruddy red upon first glance, clad in her armor already; Hawke frowned at the new blood glistening on her chest and gauntlets. "Nothing like an early morning slaying to freshen one up?" she offered, but didn't put her heart into the joke. Fenris' situation had taken the wind out of her sails completely.

"Not the time Hawke." All the color drained from her face, leaving her almost pasty. So she knew, then, what was happening in the world. Some way or another. "It's mayhem, Hawke. The elves in the alienage? They have _all_ developed magic."

Ah, so that explained the scent of burning upon the air. Hawke thought maybe the du Luc's were having a bonfire again. But no, the only bonfire was the alienage no doubt. "Let me guess – the alienage is on fire and you've come to dear old Hawke to help you deal with crazy, juiced-up elves?"

"What is wrong with you? This is no time for joking, Hawke! There's only a few freelance Templars in the city now and my men simply are not equipped to tackle men and women drunk on power. There's blood mages springing up already. And not with the restraint that you have."

Hawke just jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards the stairs, indicating that Aveline should look. Frustrated by Hawke's almost reluctance to act immediately, she shoved past her and went inside. "Maker!" she heard Aveline exclaim. "What happened here? What did you _do?_ "

"The alienage elves were not the only ones to gain magic." She left it at that.

"Maker... Fenris-? But I saw him at the alienage just minutes ago; he was helping us to contain the innocent and calm the ones losing control. There's so many... how can this happen-?"

That snagged Hawke's attention. "He's at the alienage?" she demanded, spinning around on her bare feet to face Aveline with her eyes widening.  _Oh no._ "With the other elves? The  _other_ elves that are losing their shit? Why didn't you stop him?!"

"Because he wasn't showing any magical ability, Hawke! Are you sure that he did this?"

Hawke held out her palm; the ice burn was clear upon her skin, red raw and sore. "Very sure. Didn't the guard you have stationed around the corner report to you this morning?"

To her credit, Aveline's face remained impassive. "Hawke, you attract trouble. For yourself as well as the ones around you. I  _couldn't_ leave you alone to wander freely after coming home after almost _three years_. That wouldn't be doing my job."

"Spying on me even now. I'm flattered... I think. Well... what did your guard say this morning when he spilled all the details?" Great. Now the entire barracks knew of her and Fenris' relationship troubles. No doubt this guard had heard every word of every argument they'd had since she'd returned from the Grey Warden's fortress. Hawke didn't care about her life being smeared around like tavern dirt, but not Fenris' as well.

Now Aveline sighed in defeat. "He told me that there was screaming. Shouting."

"And you naturally chalked that up as me and him arguing again, right?"

"What else, Hawke? It's all you've both done since you came back."

That stung. It was all well and fine knowing it yourself, but being told that your relationship was going downhill faster than a Druffalo in a porcelain shop by someone else... "Yes. Tell me something that I don't know."

Aveline groaned and darted around Hawke, out of the door once more. "Hawke, don't make me beg. I need your help. We might need your... other talents to contain this. Look – I have no one else to turn to! My guards are terrified!"

Hawke to the rescue, to save the day in this infernal city. Again. If she had nothing to return to, she would have gone another path after the Inquisition. But leaving everybody she loved was impossible. Varric would tell her that it was fine and she deserved to strike out somewhere else, far from Kirkwall, but Hawke knew that he'd be lying; that bastard would miss her.

They would _all_ miss her. Even the blasted drunks in the Hanged Man that mistook her for a tavern wench.

"Fine," Hawke decided in a dull voice, turning away. Maybe one day the bitterness in her heart would dissipate, but it wouldn't be any time soon. There was too much in this to be angry about to simply let go at a whim. "Let me go and get my armor on. I'll meet you at the alienage."

 

Dashing down the twisting and turning streets of Kirkwall with her breath more pants in her ears, Hawke cast her mind back to the day so very many years ago now when she had fought in the Gallows, whirling both blades and magic to protect the city and its mostly ungrateful inhabitants. The weather had been just like today; a bright blue sky framed with a multitude of white cottony clouds. Much too cheerful for what was transpiring below it. By the end of that fateful day, those clouds were grey with smoke and ash, sky bright no more.

__The one who repents, who has faith,_ _

__Unshaken by the darkness of the world,_ _

__She shall know true peace._ _

The Chantry had no idea what the hell it was talking about. Canticles of Bullshit.

'The alienage is on fire' wasn't an apt enough description. Through the thick, acrid smoke, Hawke saw that it was almost leveled completely, nothing remaining but rubble and the ghosts of broken walls. People were crying, screaming and pleading in equal measure.

The city guard allowed Hawke to slip through the barricade they had made out of debris to keep the flames from catching the other buildings without a word. Destruction covered the shivering elves huddled at one end of the alienage, away from the flames. Hawke swore and tore towards the pile of elves. “Why are they still here?!” she raged at a guard in Aveline's colors stood near them, his face ashen with soot and filth. “Get them out!”

“They refuse to leave! They won't go!”

“Then haul them out!”

“They are terrified of the rest of the city, Champion!” he shouted over the roar of flames; Merrill's old home was an inferno. Hawke was starting to cook within her armor already. That was not good news. “They all have magic! We had to put down some who went insane right before their eyes... I... there was no choice. They were going to kill us all.”

“I don't care what the others have done, get these ones out of here!” Hawke demanded, throwing herself deeper into the chaos.

Where was Fenris? Maker, if he was trapped in the fires...

No. Of course he wasn't; he was Fenris and he always found his way out of the flames. No matter what type they were.

 

Hawke's chest was burning from the smoke, her aching ribs by the time she got the last innocent out of the alienage. She coughed hard, hand wiping across her dry and cracked lips. That was it; _h_ ad to be. Aveline was here now, assisting in dampening out the fires, lest they spread to the rest of the city.

Something hit her in the small of her back. Hard. Unable to regain her footing on the debris-littered ground, Hawke was thrown into the ashes at her feet while a lone elf towered above her, flames curling around his wrists in a way that convinced Hawke that _this_ was the newborn mage responsible for the alienage's condition.

Hawke threw herself into the embers lying to her right as the jet of flame exploded towards her; she quickly batted away the start of her armor catching fire. No ice would appear when she called on it, utterly spent of mana. Sweat dripped into her eyes and Hawke's hair was badly singed; she could smell the tips burning in the scalding, cloying air.

Gasping, Hawke yanked the dagger in her belt out, but the elf kicked it from her hand before she could turn it on herself; he made sure to stamp on her wrist too for good measure, pressing his filthy foot down hard to pin it there. “Champion,” the elf hissed, toes curling. “I lost my family because of you. You're painted as this heroine, this saintly patron of Kirkwall, but we both know what you are: a murderer. Who did you save, Champion? Not my family! And now Fen'Harel has gifted me with magic to take my revenge!”

 _Who did you save, Hawke?_ The Nightmare had never sounded so loud in her head. It dominated her thoughts, drowning out the roar of the flames. _You killed them all._

_Murderer._

_Monster._

_Abomination._

She was all of these things, and also none of them.

Her free hand closed around something long and sharp.

Hawke plunged the jagged piece of brick into the elf's leg; he screamed bloody murder and allowed her the time she needed to pull her pinned hand away. The elf was already dead, he just didn't know it yet.

Following the line of blood that gushed from the open wound, Hawke _pulled._ Every fiber of her being called to the elf's lifeblood as she invaded his body, corrupting it, rotting it from the inside out. The elf fell to his knees, hands reaching for his mouth as crimson liquid poured past his lips. Hawke snarled, curling her fingers into a tight fist; the elf exploded with a violent bang and she was showered in blood and internal organs, drenching her from head to foot. With a heaving gag, Hawke rolled onto her side and only just managed to keep the meager contents of her stomach down.

“Hawke!” Aveline barreled through the smoke, causing Hawke to look up and see the most beautiful sight she could imagine: Fenris at the Captain's side, bloodstained and sword drawn. Though his lyrium bands shone a brighter sapphire than usual, there was no hint of ice or indeed any magic about him.

Fenris rammed the tip of his greatsword into the ground, leaving it upright and quivering as he reached down and wrenched Hawke to her feet while Aveline ushered them away from the flames, shield raised against the heat. “Get up or die,” he growled.

Hawke laughed wildly, drunk in the heat of the moment, making to wipe the blood from her face but only succeeding in smearing it instead. “As subtle as a rampaging dragon! Maker, I love you Fenris.” She rammed her lips against his cheek, leaving a red smear there; Fenris almost threw her away from him in clear disgust.

Hawke could scarce breathe. Even when she was clear of the flames she hacked and coughed, so hard that her head spun and stars danced before her eyes. Somehow, she had survived. If there really was a Maker out there, He simply refused to let her die, no matter what she threw herself at.

“Here-” Aveline handed Fenris his greatsword back after he placed the foolish Hawke down upon the stones around the corner from the alienage. He nodded in thanks, turning back to the wheezing woman. Fenris had seen Hawke covered in blood before, of course – she was a blood mage. It was an occupational hazard when you made your foes explode into red mist – but never to this extreme; her face was crimson. It made her sapphire eyes appear very wide and bright. He'd always been a weak man when it came to those eyes, peering up at him from within that face.

Hawke reached out and touched his face, a finger brushing his ashen cheek. _Are you okay?_ her eyes pleaded. _Tell me that you are okay._

Fenris touched the back of her hand. It was brief, nothing more than a memory of skin on skin. _I am._ “Do not talk. Aveline says that you may have damaged your throat with your recklessness.”

“Fenr-”

“ _Shut up.”_

Her right leg was burned, apparently. None of them were quite sure how badly, but Anders frequently told her during the days she helped at the clinic that pain was good when it came to burns. Hawke found out the hard way how much it hurt by trying to climb to her feet and screaming as the fabric chafed against the raw skin. Fenris gripped her around the middle and she threw an arm around his shoulder, half hobbling away from the smoldering alienage.

When Aveline had come for Hawke's aid, this wasn't what she had been expecting; Hawke was clever beneath the acerbic wit. She applied logic before jumping into the situation before her like a decent soldier should. At least... she had in the past. Now it seemed that she intended to get herself destroyed using any means possible. “Get her home,” Aveline barked before jogging back the way they had come.

  


Fenris said nothing the entire way through Lowtown. By the time they reached the sprawling steps of Hightown, his lips were a tight line slashed across his face. Hawke knew that look better than anyone. “You'll have to help me cross the ice,” she said in a scratchy voice. “You remember the ice, don't you?”

“Don't speak.”

“I will decide that, thank y-” Hawke broke off as a violent cough exploded out of her. Fenris growled as if to say _I warned you._ Hawke grumbled unhappily at being hauled around like a small child. In the past, this situation would have been very different on her; Fenris carrying her would have been a moment for joy, for hilarity to ensue as she poked at his cast-iron façade. When he'd made his feelings known to her and after a particularly rough battle, she would dead-faint into his arms in the most ridiculous fashion, throwing an arm across her face and pointing her legs. _“Oh, Ser Elf, are you taking me back to your castle to have your wicked, wild way with me? I promise that I won't scream. Unless you ask me to.”_

“ _You are the most moronic woman I have ever had the misfortune of meeting.”_

“ _Misfortune? You wound me deeply, Ser Elf. Next time I faint in your arms, it won't be as easy to carry me around.”_

He had taken one look down at her, face devoid of all expression, and then promptly dropped her onto the dusty floor.

At least she'd followed through on her promise. Hawke reckoned that she couldn't have been more uncomfortable to carry in her singed, mangled armor. The spike on her elbow had to be hurting his chest; even he didn't possess that thick a skin.

  


Predictably, Fenris didn't say a word when he reached the Hawke estate and his sharp emerald eyes picked out the ice still marring the floor. Now Hawke had chance to really look at the ice, it seemed like waves of the ocean come to a standstill with how it had frozen. A tsunami stopped mid-destruction. She found that description oddly fitting.

The flesh of her right thigh was a jagged circle of red raw skin when they managed to peel away the charred clothing, Hawke swearing to Andraste's mabari the entire time. “Don't dilly-dally,” Hawke demanded through gritted teeth when the elf retrieved the burn salve from the library, “Just slap it on and get it over with.”

It was agony. Fenris didn't have Orana's gentle touch, making every brush of his fingers against the burn pure torture. She hated burns. A cut she could bandage up and deal with by chewing on some elfroot, but burns had to be left open or it would only hurt infinitely more. Slowly, carefully, they stripped the ruined armor from her body until Hawke was left sat upon the chair in just breastband and smalls with her hands and face crimson. Fenris handed her a wet cloth and bucket, but where it succeeded in wiping the blood from her hands and face, her hair was another matter entirely; the black shone more crimson in the natural light filtering in through the open curtains, matted with drying elf blood and Maker only knew what else.

Fenris couldn't hate her completely, Hawke theorized hopefully as she watched him slip out of the room for a glass of water for her sore throat. It was some small comfort when she felt so very miserable and bloodstained. “What happened?” was his greeting upon returning, baritone of his voice low as he shoved the glass into her hand.

She took a small sip of water, but only coughed it back out. “Which?” Hawke's cracked tone asked, “the magic, or why did I blow up an elf when I could have just stopped his heart?”

“Both.”

“Which first? Magic fingers or boom?”

“Not now, Hawke.”

Hawke reached for Fenris' hand now he was close enough to touch, but at the last moment before she came into contact, he moved away. _Fine, then._ “Fen'Harel. Your God has brought down the Veil at last.”

“He is not my God,” Fenris retorted sharply. “Explain why I have...” _magic._

Another coughing fit overtook Hawke and she hastily took another gulp of water; the coolness was a balm on her throat. “Inquisitor Lavellan met with Fen'Harel a few months ago. He revealed himself to her. Revealed himself and a modicum of his plans to restore his people. Fen'Harel is a revolutionary, who would have thought it?”

“And the... magic?”

“The first step Aevella told me was that he intended on restoring the elves connection with the Fade.”

“So all elves...”

“Yes,” Hawke said simply, picking at the hem of the covers. “They are all mages now. Whether they want to be or not. And... I don't know what is coming next. When I came across the Inquisitor at Redcliffe after everything ended, it was by accident. I was bound for the sea, as she was. Only I was heading to the Free Marches, and she to Tevinter. They seem to think that help will come in the form of the Magisters and Tevene people since they have one in the inner circle.”

“Then there is no hope for this world,” Fenris retorted, turning away from Hawke and stalking over to the fireplace; the flames had died sometime during the night. “There is no allying with blood mages and monsters. Of any kind.”

Hawke swallowed hard at that, wondering if she came into that equation somehow. She was never fully sure with Fenris. “I am scared,” she found herself admitting hesitantly. “Fen'Harel is remaking the world for elves, not people like me. Humans. How long until everywhere suffers an attack like the Qunari on Kirkwall? Only this time they will succeed. I am so _tired_ of saving everyone, Fenris! The more I throw myself into this role that was thrust upon me, willingly or not, the more I lose myself. And you.” Hawke sighed frustratedly, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand.

A soft crackling reached Hawke's ears and she peered around Fenris, watching as ice spread from where his hands were bracing themselves against the fireplace. “Fenris,” Hawke called sharply. “Calm down. Calm down right this moment.”

“ _How can I?”_ he roared into the fireplace with his brands alight once more. _“How, Hawke? Tell me.”_

“I know you're scared, but you have to keep control. If you don't...” there would be a repeat of the hall, they both knew.

Breathing heavily, Fenris dipped his head and slowly pulled his palms from the fireplace, curling them into tight fists. The glow receded and Hawke let out a quiet sigh of relief. “That's it. Please don't turn me into a living ice sculpture. I'd look lovely in ice, but not in this current condition. Wait until my hair isn't so terrible at least.”

Fenris ignored her. “I will draw a bath for you. Your hair is atrocious.” And with that, he turned away and walked resolutely out of the room. Hawke's eyes were still staring at the sheen of ice covering the mantelpiece. Was there even any hope left for them now?


	3. Blood in the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris have a heart to heart and plans begin to take form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the summary (again, sigh) but I like this one and it won't change again. Thanks for your patience, here is the next chapter! Also, rating has been bumped up to E. ;)

“Your hair has gotten so long.” Hawke chastised herself for not noticing sooner; Fenris' hair when she had met him was long enough to fall into his eyes, jagged where he had cut it himself, but now it fell around his face in waves of bright white that just brushed the tight line of his shoulders. As he was so terrible at cutting hair, Hawke had been the one to keep it neat and tidy, out of his eyes so it wasn't a distraction in battle. But she had been gone for so very long, and his hair reflected that right back at her.

“I can't believe that I didn't notice. You look lovely with longer hair; remind me not to cut it shorter than this ever again. Though... why didn't you cut it?”

“You were not here to cut it.”

Another little blow. “You could have trimmed it. I did teach you how to do it correctly, not like the butcher you used to be.”

“I forgot.” He dumped the bucket of warm water over her head without warning, causing Hawke to splutter and red-tinged water to stream past her shoulders and into the basin.

No he hadn't. Fenris enjoyed the evenings they spent holed up in the bedroom more than he should have, sat on a chair before the roaring fire while she worked at his hair with a pair of scissors, chattering away about whatever gossip she had gotten her hands on. Or on later occasions, Hawke had him read to her. When he had finished the books in her library, hungry to devour the histories of the world, Hawke gave him new literature. Short stories that she had written herself just for him... about the pair of them.

Them both defiling the wide doors of the Chantry.

He and Hawke coming across a nest of dragonling eggs and Hawke deciding to adopt one. With hilarious results when it hatched in the estate.

And Fenris' personal favourite: a single page just filled with everything that she loved about him. Hawke spared no detail either. There hadn't been much sleeping that night when he'd gotten his hands on her.

Fenris still had those stories. He kept them tucked away in a little nook in the library, safe and sound from whatever could damage them. When Hawke was gone, he found himself picking them up more often, finding comfort in the shockingly explicit words and familiar curve of her letters. If he let go of the world long enough, it was almost like Hawke was still in the estate with him.

Hawke sent letters from wherever she was, of course. She sent them as often as she could, but not all of them had found their way to him. Their relationship had endured only because of those long and loving letters. Only her heartfelt pleas had been enough to stop him from tearing after her, crossing the Waking Sea. But with Hawke, he found that she omitted plenty of details from the pages she sent: injuries, ambushes and worse.

Like the Fade.

Terror like nothing Fenris had ever felt had torn through him upon receiving the letter from Anders. The abomination was in hiding still, but knew enough about the comings and goings of the Inquisition to know how to stay out of the way. The mage's words were... strangely sympathetic. That rang alarm bells immediately in Fenris' head as he'd dove deeper into the letter.

_Fenris, I am so sorry; Hawke went into the Fade physically with the Inquisitor when she accompanied her to Adamant Fortress in the Western Approach. A siege they say, looking at the armies that marched on that place. They don't know where they are now, or if they're even alive. I wanted to let you know before you heard it through gossip and rumour._

_I know that we have never seen eye-to-eye, and most likely never will, but Hawke loves you. For your sake and her own, I pray that she will be okay._

_Do_ not _do anything stupid, elf._

There were more words, but Fenris didn't remember them; he had buried himself in a bottle of wine, and then another. He'd lay next to the fire wishing that it would catch the bands of his lyrium markings and simply set him aflame. If Hawke was in the Fade... she was dead. There was no hope, no matter how desperately he tried to cling to some sliver of it. When he was sober enough, he relayed the news to the Captain who took it better than Fenris, but still locked herself in her office for the rest of the day. Fenris heard that even her husband, Donnic, couldn't get through the door until the evening when she let him in at last.

The waiting was the hardest part. The uncertainty, the lack of information and lack of ways to act. Fenris didn't care to remember those days; they were some of the worst of his life.

And then, a miracle came to the door of the estate: a letter in Hawke's own handwriting, dated almost a week ago. After she had gone into the Fade. Fenris had cradled it for next to an hour before finally managing to open it, his fingers trembling with relief. She was alive. She had survived again. Hawke was like a cat, burning through her nine lives.

  


_To my dear, dear Fenris,_

_I am so sorry for my late reply. Things have been madness with the Grey Wardens, I shit you not. Those leads I brought up in my last letter led to places I never could have expected. It's only now that I've found the chance to write to you, my love. And I'm doing that against my thigh, bouncing up and down on a horse, so please excuse the shaking letters. If you have trouble with any words, ask Aveline to help you!_

_I hope that you are safe. If one can be safe in Kirkwall! How is Aveline? You didn't mention her in your last letter, and I think the one she was sending me has been lost along the road – I have been travelling again. I am heading into the mountains now, to the Grey Warden's fortress, Weisshaupt. (You have no idea how long it took me to figure out the spelling of that blasted word! I ruined three sheets in the process.) I'm not sure how long I'll be there or if anything else will appear, but once I am done, I am coming home. I won't be returning to Skyhold, but to you. I miss you so very much._

_Varric will be remaining at Skyhold until all this is over. I tried to convince him to come with me, but he told me that he wanted to stay behind. I think he still feels guilty, myself. On countless occasions I have told him to stop being so stupid, but he's put all the weight of the fucking red lyrium and tosser Corypheus on his shoulders. And even his shoulders are not broad enough for that._

_Sebastian invited me to Starkhaven on the way back to Kirkwall. You will be very pleased that I told him I won't be going. His invitation didn't seem to extend to you, after all. What a prick with an ugly belt on it._

_Also, could you please ask Aveline about Anders for me? He has been quiet for a month now and I'm beginning to worry about him. Of course, it could just be that his letter got lost, or he can't risk sending word, but I do fret for that dumb idiot. PLEASE do it, Fenris. I know you hate him, but I can't send Aveline something with this kind of information in. People tend to read my letters to her she told me last month. I should start sending her darkspawn smut._

_And now it's your turn: are you eating? You better be. Are you drinking? Have one for me. The ale on the road is as thin as nug piss and tastes disturbingly similar. If you've been getting into fights, your glorious face better be untouched, as well as your delicious backside. Also, the other part of you that I love so much. THAT better be in full working order for when I get back, because you are not leaving my bed for a week. Or a month. I miss sex with you more than decent ale or expensive wines. Oh I can't wait to kiss you again my dear. When I get to Weisshaupt, I swear to pen two pages or more of just what I want to do to you and your succulent body._

_Love always, your Hawke_

  


Nothing about the Fade. Nothing at all about the horrors she would have faced within it. At first, Fenris had resented Hawke for it. Did she not trust him to stay if she told him the truth? The resentment then turned into grim acceptance: Hawke didn't _want_ to talk about it. Fenris recalled even now the brand-new hollowed look to her eyes when she had finally walked back through those doors. Before the end of the night they were at loggerheads.

He hadn't meant to start shouting when Hawke had leaned in to kiss him. He hadn't meant to rage at her so much that tears sparkled in her eyes. He hadn't meant to make her feel so alone in the world now she was home safe and sound. Fenris raged out of love and concern, but he was fairly certain that Hawke didn't see it that way.

A splash pulled Fenris back to the present; Hawke had dropped her spicy-smelling embrium soap into the water. She cursed and darted forwards to get it.

“Stop moving so much!” Fenris growled, catching Hawke's burned leg before it slid off the edge of the bath and into the water. Twice she had almost done it now. It was beginning to feel like bathing a small child. “I'll get it.” He rolled up his shirtsleeves past his elbows and reached into the warm and soapy water, feeling around where it had fallen in. Hawke was giggling as she watched him search endlessly for the infernal block. What a lusting fool he must have looked, rummaging around between her spread legs. It was only from pride and love that he didn't leave Hawke to fend for herself in the bathtub in her current state.

His fingers brushed the inside of her left thigh and Fenris felt her freeze up right before he did too. “Sorry,” he grunted, moving his hand away as if her touch had burned him.

Hawke giggled and Fenris made the mistake of glancing up at her face; the most lovely of red blushes tinged the paleness of her cheeks. A flash of heat shot through him as his ghosting fingers now touched her knee and Hawke actually let out a quiet little moan. “Don't you dare,” he warned her quietly as his body reacted to the sound. “Hawke.”

“Then don't touch _parts_ of me. You know how much I love those questing fingers of yours,” Hawke purred, sound echoing around the room. Fenris growled and sat back, scooting the stool a few more inches away from the temptress; Hawke made a displeased noise. “Now that is just rude,” she huffed, splashing water at him.

“Lie back properly. Please,” he added as an afterthought. Manners of all things were an effective way to actually make Hawke listen.

Hawke obeyed without question, lounging back against the rim of the bath with her eyes fluttering shut. Fenris moved the stool behind her head and picked up the bottles of lotions and other hair products. There was a thin layer of dust on most of them, having been unused for so long.

First he rinsed the blood and gore out of her hair and into the bucket sat below her overhanging head. Once the more lumpy parts of her hair were sleek and wet, Fenris tipped the soap onto the crown of her head; Hawke sighed in pleasure as his nails scraped against her scalp, massaging the mixture into her tresses.

Fenris loved Hawke's hair. It was long even when he had first met her as a hateful runaway elf with nowhere to call home. She kept it tied back in a long braid that hung down down between her shoulder blades, unravelling it only to wash when on the road. For so long he'd imagined just how soft it would be to run his fingers through those ebony strands. Fenris wondered often what it would feel like to have her hair spill against the bare skin of his chest like black ink as she hovered above him.

The real thing had been so much better than his fantasies. And his chest wasn't the only part of his body that felt the heavenly touch of her long and luscious hair.

“Oh Maker,” Hawke moaned sensually as his fingers moved to the base of her neck. “Your fingers are a gift to the world. Harder, please.”

“This isn't sex, Hawke.”

“No, it's better.”

Hawke's body had scars. Some more obvious than the others; Fenris' thumb brushed across a thick jagged line across the base of her neck. When asked, Hawke confessed cheerfully that during her first year in Kirkwall, someone had tried to behead her with an extremely blunt blade that had next to no force behind it. But Hawke had a tendency to lie about her scars and Fenris knew for certain that the truth behind this one was that she had fallen over her feet in her uncles house and landed upon her own dagger. Some stories Fenris didn't know the tale behind, but the ones he had witnessed for himself he did.

Fenris' hands slid over her shoulders and she shivered as if cold. “I'm starting to think that you're teasing me,” she mused aloud, shifting a little and disturbing the mirrored surface of the water. “You never could resist my hair.”

“You have beautiful hair, Hawke. It would be foolish of me to say otherwise.”

Hawke raised a hand and caught his wrist as his fingers dipped lower over her chest. “I wouldn't,” she warned him gently. “I may have a burned leg, but I can still ride you the way you like me to.”

“Eryna, you-” Fenris couldn't find the right words to chastise her. His breath caught in his throat without warning and he had to force himself to remember how to breath. “We have been apart for almost three years. Things cannot go back to the way they were.” His body felt uncomfortably warm.

“Oh fuck this dodging around each other.” Hawke growled and leaned her head back, reaching up and catching Fenris' face in her hands before he could move; she yanked him down towards her, crushing his lips to her own in a desperate, brief kiss. When she unhooked her nails from his cheeks, he drew away instantly as if electrocuted.

Hawke didn't give him time to recover as she twisted around to face him, eyes a port in a storm as she glared at him. “I am not sorry that I left you behind,” she snapped.. “I am not sorry that I didn't tell you about when I went into the Fade. What do you want to know? About the fucking nightmares that plague me every single night? The fear I feel when I wake up in darkness, not knowing where I am for a moment, thinking I'm back in the Fade? That I stayed behind? I love your fucking ass, you stupid elf. I didn't tell you these things because I wanted you to be safe! Maker only knows what you have gone through in life already, and I would not add to that with new torments! If you want me to beg at your feet for forgiveness for my actions, you can get out of my house right now. I am not letting this fucked up world get between us, Fenris. So help me Maker if it does.”

She expected him to explode at her. Yell and rage for her outspoken words. Hawke didn't expect for Fenris to twine his arms around her wet, bare shoulders and move in for what was unmistakably a hug. “I thought that I'd lost you,” Fenris said into her neck in a strangled voice. “I never want to feel that way again, Hawke. If war breaks out, I come too. I will not consent to staying here like an old crone while you face untold dangers again.”

“You could be the perfect old crone; you are so serious and grumpy. You could yell at small children to stay off my lawn.”

Fenris furrowed his brows. “You don't have a lawn, Hawke.”

That was a fair point. “When we move away from Kirkwall, we'll have a lawn. Lots and lots of grass and no blank stone walls. Then you can yell at small children.” Hawke's hands splayed across his forearms, gently brushing the lyrium bands. “And adults. And any stray animal that wanders along and bends a blade of glass.”

“Yes to the moving, no to the shouting.” Fenris unlaced his arms from Hawke's shoulders and stood up. She smiled when he paused to press a lingering kiss to her forehead.

Hawke tutted. “You are terrible. Get back down here where I can reach you. I have three years of kisses to shower down upon you.” She raised her arms and made vigorous grabby hands at him. Fenris indulged her, moving to the side where she could catch him and pull his face back down to her own.

“What about your magic?” Hawke whispered when she pulled away a fraction. “If we do this, you could explode. Literally, Fenris. And since you seem to favour ice... I am in the worst place in the world right now.”

“I won't explode,” he promised quietly.

“Fenris... you...” Hawke sighed, resting her forehead against his own. “You are full of lyrium. You are a walking bomb waiting to happen. If you didn't have this control...”

Fenris stiffened. “I hardly had control last night. I froze your hall.”

“I don't care about the hall; I care about _you._ How are you feeling? I was so... scared for you.”

She heard his breath catch, but his voice remained level. “I will endure, Hawke. Until I can find a way to get rid of it.”

“Fenris-”

“No,” he growled, pulling away. “If there was a way to block magic before, there is a way now. I will hunt down Fen'Harel myself if I must.”

“I don't think bludgeoning a God over the head will make him help you.”

“Then I will beg. I will not live with this curse for longer than necessary, Hawke. I will not. While I have this power, everyone around me is in terrible danger. Including you.”

Hawke twined her arms around him and hugged Fenris tight. “And what if Fen'Harel cannot help you? Like... it is simply not possible?”

“Then I will kill him.”

“Maker,” Hawke groaned. “Is there any scenario where you don't pick a fight with someone literally bigger than you? Fen'Harel is taller, stronger and a fucking lot more scary than you. He makes me want to shit my pants with what he can do, Fenris. The difference between the man I met with the Inquisition and-”

Fenris jolted backwards, eyes widening. “You have met this Fen'Harel?”

Hawke nodded, eyes dropping to the water. “Mmhmm. I knew him as Solas, the magical advisor to the Inquisition. And... Inquisitor Lavellan's lover. She loved him greatly, and he left her at the end without so much as a goodbye. To save her, Aevella told me...” She didn't mention that it was Fen'Harel who stole the Inquisitor's arm also. Aevella had never quite recovered from the loss, mourning the bows she used to make sing as she loosed an arrow laced with her magic.

With a frown, Hawke caught Fenris' wrist. “Really, Fenris; I don't want you to go after him. Call it beyond selfish of me, but I'd rather you with magic than dead.”

“I'd rather be dead.” He said it so flatly, so matter-of-factly that Hawke felt a chill travel down her spine.

“It's your choice,” she whispered, slowly letting his wrist go. “But I didn't fight for three years so I could come home to just let you run off and get yourself killed.” Her voice grew stronger. “I am a mage, Fenris. And I will teach you how to control your magic. Not so that you can use it – I don't know how it would react with your lyrium – but so that you don't hurt anyone.”

“And in return?”

“You don't run off like I did. Because I won't stay behind; I will follow you and I will drag your fucking ass back here. Do you understand me? We do this _together_ , or not at all.”

“We haven't been a together for a long time, Hawke.”

She deserved that, she knew she did. There was no returning to the pair they had once been. They were hardened in a way like never before now, and Hawke wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not just yet.

“I know. And I'm sorry.” Silence fell.

Fenris broke it. “I kept your letters. And your stories.”

Hawke peered back up at him, surprised. “Did you like your stories? I'd almost forgotten about them.”

“They were... explicit.” Explicit did not begin to cover it. Hawke's stories were always beyond the point of lewd. She gave Varric's published tales a run for their money.

Hawke blushed, but held her head high. “Did you manage to read all of them?”

“I did. Though some scenes required more studying so I could decipher them.”

“But you liked them, yes?”

“I missed you impossibly more with every single one.”

Hawke reached up and drew Fenris back down to her, positively slamming her mouth against his own in a hungry kiss; his hand slipped down from the side of the bath and into the water with a splash. “Fenris-” she gasped, open-mouthed as his fingers found themselves between her parted legs; two digits slipped inside of her without warning. “Did you really like them that much?”

“You've no idea, Hawke. No idea.” His mouth silenced her moan, fingers pumping in and out without pause; Hawke writhed against his hand, slipping her own up the back of his shirt and digging her nails into the firm but lean skin beneath them.

“Maker-!” Hawke cried out, but it was swallowed by his lips. There was no let up, no gentleness about it. His fingers wrought every possible sound out of her mouth, twisting her body beneath his hand; water spilled over the side in large splashes as she arched her back sharply. Fenris left her lips and travelled to the peak of her breast, capturing one pert nipple in his mouth.

If it was his intention to break her, Hawke was certain that he was going to succeed as he sucked and bit, moving from breast to neck. She wound her fingers into his hair, tugging the leather cord that tied it back free.

Hawke came in a great wave and a cry that echoed all around the room, hips bucking shamelessly against his hand. When Fenris drew away from her throat, there was a red mark sat proudly there, marking her as his.

“Wow,” Hawke muttered, melting back against the side of the bath. “It's been a while since I felt pleasure that wasn't my own fingers. Yours are decidedly better. My legs are tingling and it feels _nice_.”

“I would do much more. If I could trust myself.” There was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice. Hawke sighed, pressing her lips firmly against his cheek, twisting a lock of white around a finger. He meant the magic. That same magic that could appear at any given moment. Hawke was no fool to press him into it.

“Another time,” she promised, eyes dropping to the distended front of his leather pants. Hawke huffed at the missed opportunity. _Soon,_ she swore to herself. _Very fucking soon._

“And oh,” Hawke added, standing up and allowing the water to drip down the planes of her naked body. “You are in my bed tonight. No excuses.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos, etc, are food for a starving writer.


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